


i got class like a fifty-seven cadillac

by xTammyVx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Edging, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Road Head, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4785110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTammyVx/pseuds/xTammyVx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn must be sitting in the passenger’s side, since Niall is sober-driving. Zayn’s not nearly as drunk as Harry; then again, he didn’t get involved in a vicious game of Never Have I Ever with Nick, and then someone got out the cocktail menu, and Louis convinced Harry he needed a flower crown of tiny umbrellas, and it was all downhill from there.</p><hr/><p>Two times Harry watches Zayn give Niall road head, and the one time they invite him to watch the rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i got class like a fifty-seven cadillac

**Author's Note:**

> Finally finished something! Phew!
> 
> To my lovely betas, [freakforhoran](http://freakforhoran.tumblr.com/) and [laziallgna](http://laziallgna.tumblr.com/), here for me through the thick and thin periods of fic-writing, thank you :)

“Come on, Harry. Few more steps,” Niall’s saying, hand toasty-warm on Harry’s sweaty-cold back. Harry grins, taking in the rainbow of lights from all the clubs’ glowing signs. Wearing his favourite Louis Vuitton button-up and an alcohol blanket, Harry is in his _element_ , and he has the two left feet to prove it.

“Are you asking me to dance, Niall?” He trips over nothing and slaps a hand to his chest, nearly breaking into giggles. “Because I’ll be honest, I am _not_ in a state to boogie.”

It’s unclear whether Niall is laughing because it’s funny, because he doesn’t get it, or because he’s Niall, but any which way he’s cackling as he helps Harry into his four-wheel drive. It’s a big, black car, and as Harry crawls in he finds that sitting up like a normal person doesn’t sound nearly as fun as sprawling his body across the seats, one foot on the floor, the other thrown over the backing, head pillowed on the blanket Niall keeps here.

“Ah, let him,” he hears Niall say, and somebody puts Harry’s hat on his crotch before closing the door. If he was naked, could his dick lift it? A very good question. Harry will get a team of experts together in the morning to test this, with lab coats and everything.

Zayn must be sitting in the passenger’s side, since Niall is sober-driving. Zayn’s not nearly as drunk as Harry; then again, he didn’t get involved in a vicious game of Never Have I Ever with Nick, and then someone got out the cocktail menu, and Louis convinced Harry he needed a flower crown of tiny umbrellas, and it was all downhill from there.

“How are we gonna get him into the house? His bedroom’s up a thousand stairs,” Niall groans.

Ha. “ _Tousand_ ,” Harry hums.

“He can sleep on our sofa,” Zayn says softly, a little waver in his voice like he’s giggling at Harry giggling at Niall. Haha.

“Alright, fair plan,” Niall agrees, starting the engine.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Waking up to, “Is he asleep?” is a bit ironic, Harry thinks, but his mouth’s too dry to say anything of it.

“Think so,” Zayn whispers. “You ready?”

Harry opens his eyes, but it’s difficult to pinpoint movement when the entire world’s spinning off its axis. Take 2, he catches Zayn pulling his arm back across the console to undo his seatbelt.

Over the expanse of his sexually-active life, Harry had become familiar with a lot of sounds: a bedframe hitting the wall; mattress springs whining to the rhythm of a good fuck; the slip-slide-slap of a woman who’s absolutely soaked on his dick; and the clank of a belt. The sound flashes hot in his ears, feeling louder than it should, and when he looks to the front seats again he’s met with the sight of Niall’s elbow as he pushes his trousers down.

“Love driving with you,” Niall says as Zayn leans across.

Harry wants to laugh, but he’s not sure if it’s out of humour or out of surprise. Whichever one it was gets caught in his throat when Zayn spits, maybe onto his hand or straight onto Niall’s cock. If Harry wasn’t whiskey-dicked, he’d get so hard he’d probably black out, because Zayn is _pretty_ and Niall is _hot_ and Zayn’s giving Niall _head_. Zayn’s back curves as he bobs down, and Niall sighs softly, long and slow and relieved and grateful, and continues smoothly down the road.

“Wow,” he murmurs, _tick-tick-tick_ of his indicator going just before he makes a turn.

Desperate to know where Zayn’s hand is—Niall’s shaft? His balls? His taint, even?—Harry shifts a little, eyes snapping shut as Zayn lifts his head.

“Sorry. Thought he moved,” Zayn explains.

“That’s alright, just— Yeah, like that. That’s good.” When his breath catches, Harry looks again, but with his vision blocked by the seats, the only details he’s allowed are the occasional slurps and grunts. Pouting in frustration, Harry resolves to take what he’s given. If only he had X-ray vision. 

“You watching the road?” Zayn asks, voice a teasing whisper that’s two notches sexier than his groggy morning slur.

“’Course I am. What else’d I be watching?” Niall retorts. He gives a chuckled, “ _Ow_ ,” soon after.

“Just making sure,” Zayn says, then does something that makes Niall’s foot go down on the accelerator for half a second.

“Shit, oh god,” Niall croaks above the wet sounds of Zayn wanking him off and tutting.

“Thought you were paying attention, like. Hope I’m not distracting you,” Zayn says.

Niall grumbles, “I’ll pull over and jizz on your face if you keep being a little— _shit_ ,” but the threat loses its edge when it pitches into a squeak near the end. Harry notices his own hands are rolling knots into his shirt, fists stone-tight in anticipation. He still probably couldn’t get completely hard, but the half-chub sitting in his jeans is a nice reminder of the first few months of Zayn and Niall dating. Jesus, what a time to be alive. Harry couldn’t count on all his fingers and toes the number of sneaky wanks he indulged in just _thinking_ about them. Everyone would pretend not to notice their absence, or the matching tint to their cheeks on their return. Even Louis stopped smirking, because it was so normal, so commonplace to find that if Niall was MIA, so was Zayn, and vice versa.

God, they fell in love so hard it’s a miracle neither of them broke anything, squeezing themselves onto one-person chairs, nearly falling out of Zayn’s bunk at night, laughing as they crashed through doors, laughing harder when they tried to explain. Eventually it was agreed that there were things nobody would ever be able to understand about _ZaynAndNiall_.

One time, Harry ducked into their hotel room to borrow Niall’s bottle-opener keychain, and saw them on the balcony. He’ll never forget the way they were sitting, silent bar the love hearts drifting and popping in halos above their heads, huddled close on a lounge chair, gazes drifting wherever they pleased, pushing their hands together until their fingers slid between each other’s. And then they just started smiling, and Niall laughed, and Zayn followed, and at that moment Harry saw the way his mum looked at Robin, and Paul at Clodagh. It became so obvious that this was what films, fortune-tellers, and romance novels talk about; before they were even legal to drink, they’d found _the one_.

Blow jobs are romantic too, Harry guesses. There wasn’t one on _The Titanic_ , and he’s never heard of anyone receiving oral in the rain, or upside down (does Spiderman’s costume even have a fly, or would he have to take the whole thing off, and if so, what if he needed a wee?) but Harry’s certain that with the way Niall’s stroking Zayn’s back, it means _something_. He knows for sure what the heavy breathing means, though, just like he knows that he won’t even get to see it when Niall comes. Harry embodies the sad-face emoji.

“Orange light. I’m close,” Niall tells Zayn softly as he pulls the car to a gentle stop. Judging by the movement of Zayn’s back—not to mention the _sounds_ , dear god—he’s going fast and sharp on the tip, Niall’s hand scrunching up his designer tee shirt, and Harry is immediately concerned that Niall will tear it.

Niall’s head falls back, and he makes a soft, sigh-like sound that’s just rough enough to qualify as a groan. It’s actually sort of beautiful. In profile, Harry sees that Niall’s gone a good, hearty shade of red.

“Take your time swallowing. Light’s not green yet,” he says with a tone so tender that the contrast catches Harry off-guard.

“Was that good?” Zayn asks, his voice gone to hell.

“Yeah,” Niall grins, and they share a kiss, and Harry’s blessed with a full view of it.

As the car starts moving again, Zayn straightens, and Niall does up his trousers. Harry doesn’t fall asleep again until he’s safely tucked up on the sofa.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

When Niall pulls the short straw next, Harry is prepared. He dilutes the intoxicating effects of his fruity cocktails by chugging water in between, and all it takes is a little slur when he whines insistently, “I’m _not_ drunk,” for Niall to smirk.

“You can snooze in the back, then,” he grins, losing himself to a big laugh when Harry makes an old-man kind of noise to punctuate his graceless tumble into the back seats.

Harry waits a few minutes to “fall asleep”, letting his breathing come in long, smooth sighs from his mouth, even _drooling_. Honestly, the things he does for his dick. Soon enough, the two in the front go suspiciously quiet.

“He’s drooling,” Zayn comments.

“Ssh, don’t wake him up,” Niall says. “I’m already hard.”

“I can tell,” Zayn smirks.

“Yeah, ’cause you’ve been touching me since we left. What did your ma tell you about playing with your food?” Zayn must make a face, since Niall laughs quietly. “Alright, fair. I’ll keep Trisha out of this.”

“You better,” Zayn says, but it doesn’t sound aggressive. The slide of Niall’s belt, the smooth drag of his fly, and the shuffle of fabric are like angels singing in Harry’s ears, and he lies completely still, a voyeur, a sneaky stowaway to two of his best friends’ sex lives.

“You’ve got the perfect mouth,” Niall sighs, hands steady on the wheel. “Can never quite remember how good you are until you— _shit_ , yeah, until you do _that_.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, then a thick, sloppy, gagging sound that makes Harry’s ears ring.

“Can you take it all, tonight?” Niall asks softly, and Zayn must be trying because he whines, muffled and smothered by Niall’s dick, but a whine nonetheless. “Oh, there we go. You’re so good. Gonna reward you when we get home, for bein’ so good to me.”

Zayn comes up, apparently to catch his breath.

“I know, baby,” Niall murmurs. “Feels amazing though. Ha, for a second I thought I was gonna come already.”

Harry’s never heard someone talk so much during a blow job, but Zayn must like it because he moves even further forward to deep throat Niall again.

“Oh, you beauty.” Niall brakes for a light, and Zayn uses that moment to pull away and wank Niall off, wet enough that Harry can hear the speed of his hand as Zayn rubs him over and over.

“Love sucking your dick,” Zayn whispers, like it’s all he can manage.

“I know you do,” Niall pants.

“What’s my reward?” Zayn presses. “Tell me what you’re gonna let me do.”

He ducks back down as the car starts moving, giving Niall a chance to reclaim his breath. It takes a few seconds, and even then he’s still shaky, but Niall soldiers on; “I’m gonna suck you off, just edgin’ you until my jaw’s sore or you’re begging, whichever takes longer. Then I’m gonna sit on your dick.”

“Bare?” Zayn asks.

“You’ve earned it,” Niall replies, even more breathless.

Harry considers giving his dick a quick squeeze, because he’s not sure he’s ever been this hard, and he’s starting to think it’ll leave him with physical damage. What if the wind changes and he's stuck like this forever? What if he never forgets how hot this is, and the blood can’t leave his cock? He’ll have to strap his erection to his thigh every morning, or use tape like drag queens do, but does that work if you’re hard? Harry will have to ask one of Nick’s friends, later.

Even from his limited view, Harry can see Niall getting close. His shoulders are tensing. His head is tilted back ever so slightly. He rests his elbow on the steering wheel so it’s not too obvious when he curls forward and comes, making the same choked sound as the time before. The car decelerates, but Harry can’t hear any others, so maybe they’re in the suburbs now.

“God.” Niall sounds hazy, and if Harry was a touch more sober, he’d offer to drive so Niall could fully exercise his afterglow.

“I can’t wait to fuck you,” Zayn says as he sits up, voice soft and slow like a moan.

Reaching over the middle, Niall keeps his eyes on the road. “Fucking hell. You’ll break your zip, Zayn.”

“I know,” Zayn sighs. “Might have to take the edge off before we get home.”

As if the situation in Harry’s trousers couldn’t get any fucking worse after listening to Niall getting his brains sucked out through his cock, now he’s about to hear Zayn stroke himself off because he loves it so fucking much. That’s it. This is the end for Harry, he’s sure; _Cause of Death: Sudden blood rush to cock_.

“Oh my god,” Niall says, words hot, clenched between his teeth. “I need to watch you like this more often.”

Zayn’s hand comes to Niall’s face, and he says, “Spit.” Niall spits.

Starting off easy, Zayn relaxes, breathing deeply. Niall flicks a glance over at him every so often, sometimes swearing under his breath or rubbing his face, unable to stay 100% focused on the road, and Harry can imagine why; Zayn’s a beautiful human being even at his worst, so at his best—tattooed hand playing with his cock, lips puffy from giving head, still in a button-up shirt and skinny jeans that are shucked to mid-thigh—he must be lethal.

“Again,” Zayn demands, and Niall spits into his hand again. Jesus.

“Almost there,” Niall says.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, distracted.

The familiar bump-bump of the driveway is disappointing. If Harry had his way, this drive could’ve gone on forever. He continues his act, staying statue-still even as the garage door closes behind them.

“You good?” Niall asks.

“Yeah.” Zayn must be pulling up his trousers. Niall gets out of the car.

They both come to the driver’s side to help Harry out, but before Niall can open the door, he’s sandwiched between the car and Zayn, who latches on tight. Harry figures it’s dark enough that he can get away with looking.

“Could leave him here,” Zayn smirks, turning Niall to face him. “God, I’d have you in the lobby, like, on the floor. Wouldn’t even take our shirts off.”

“Horndog,” Niall teases, and he starts to laugh before he’s cut off by Zayn’s grin pressing against his mouth. The kiss turns dirty and deep so quickly, their heads moving and angling, bodies shifting. Suddenly it hits Harry that nothing’s changed since they were eighteen; Niall and Zayn are still in love and ready to fuck at the drop of a hat, and Harry’s still in hopelessly horny awe. Zayn starts to mouth down Niall’s neck, and Harry is delighted that he might actually get to see them fuck, until he realises that he’d probably come instantly. Oh well. He needs new jeans anyway.

“I’m so turned on I could, like, do it here. Could fuck you on the bonnet,” Zayn goes on. Harry’s never heard him like this, because Zayn’s usually so cool, so calm, so collected, and that he’d let that go around Niall is sort of heart-warming, and he’s even letting Niall slide a hand into his hair, which is even more heart-warming.

“You go inside and get water for us,” Niall says. “I’ll take care of Harry, okay?”

Zayn seems to take a few seconds to calm down, resting his forehead on Niall’s shoulder, hair pressed to the glass. He nods, and Niall kisses his head, holding Zayn’s face in his hands when they pull away to just _look_ at him.

“Love you,” Niall says.

“Love you, too,” Zayn smiles.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

The whole trip sobered Harry up a fair bit, enough that he even makes it up the stairs and into the spare room, with a little help. Niall kindly chucks a tee shirt and joggers his way before saying goodnight, leaving Harry to undress, moderately horrified at the massive precome stains in his pants, but not surprised. Even now, his stupid cock won’t shut up, sensitive and heavy and begging to be rubbed against something. It doesn’t help to think about the _reward_ Zayn’s getting. Harry would give one of his cars, his flamingo shirt, his precious gold boots, _anything_ just to watch it happen, Niall’s eager-to-please mouth and Zayn’s come face. They’d know everything about each other, having been together for years.

After going through his Twitter and Instagram feed, and reading five different recipes for gluten-free apple pie, Harry decides that maybe he isn’t too drunk for a wank after all. He’ll get a glass of water first, though – something he’s sure his morning-self will definitely appreciate.

He won’t deny listening a little harder as he passes the master bedroom, hoping to hear a moan or a sexy laugh, _anything_ that’ll fuel the fire catching in his belly. Nothing. Disappointed, Harry moodily continues down the hallway, taking the stairs with a pout on his lips and a slump weighing his shoulders.

Caught in his sulk, Harry doesn’t notice that the rest of the house isn’t completely silent, doesn’t realise that his prayers haven’t gone unanswered, doesn’t stop until he’s nearly at the living room doorway. _That’s_ when he hears it.

The sound is a constant, shuddery set of taps. Harry frowns, risking a peek around the corner. Above him, the ceiling opens to give way to heaven, filling the hallway with the sweet tune of angels singing as Harry is blessed with a side-on view of Niall, naked bar a pair of briefs, bent over Zayn’s lap.

It’s Zayn’s foot tapping on the floor, face strained in the way that Harry could die for – he loves strange sex faces, and even when Zayn bares his teeth to a particularly hard sucking motion on his tip, he’s still pretty.

“Stop,” he says in a hurry, and Niall immediately backs off, hands retreating to Zayn’s thighs, mouth sliding up Zayn’s stomach to his chest as he gets up off his knees. Harry can’t believe his luck.

“Deep breaths,” Niall whispers. He pauses on his way up to flick his tongue out against Zayn’s nipple, lips closing around it straight after. Zayn tenses, but follows direction and inhales deeply, pushing out the breath just in time to meet Niall for a snog. They kiss in front of Harry often, but it’s never as slow, nor as intimate, as what they’re doing right now. Zayn’s still recovering from being so close, and if they’ve been doing this since they got home, who knows how many times he’s had to ignore instinct and put his foot down? Harry chews his thumbnail. It’s amazing how Zayn reacts to Niall, arms wrapping around his waist and holding him closer so he can kiss him deeper, and Niall groans into Zayn’s mouth like he can’t bloody help climbing into Zayn’s lap. Honestly, it’s not like Harry can blame him, but this is ridiculous; how can one couple be _this_ hot?

Zayn licks his lips and melts into the sofa, calming down. “How long’s it been?”

“Since we started?” Wiping off his hand so he can pick up his phone, Niall straightens his back, stretching. He picks up his phone. “An hour and a half.”

“Fuck. Okay,” Zayn nods, eyes slipping shut, chest deflating and grip loosening. “I want my fingers in you, soon, b’fore it gets too much.”

“One more, then we will,” Niall agrees, picking up the lube. He wets his hand, slicks up Zayn’s dick and makes Zayn’s head fall back against the sofa, Zayn’s hands squeezing and releasing Niall’s arse. With a cocky grin, Niall leans into Zayn’s body, working both hands up at down, a little twist at the head.

Harry doesn’t have to be a master at body language to know that that’s driving Zayn crazy, so much so that he can’t help but wonder how Zayn hopes to make it inside before he shoots, because from where Harry’s standing, sex looks like a pipe dream. Niall lowers his mouth to Zayn’s jaw, kissing and licking his neck as his hands move in long, fast strokes.

“Alright, stop,” Zayn whispers. His whole face relaxes the second Niall’s hands leave him, and Niall pulls away.

At the best of times, Harry doesn’t have lightning-fast reflexes. Still tipsy and turned on out of his fucking mind, he has no hope of moving when Niall turns his head slightly in the door’s direction.

Niall’s eyebrows scrunch up as he squints into the semi-darkness of the hallway. “Harry?”

Zayn follows his eyes. “What?”

Well, there’s no backing out now. Harry sheepishly steps forward, rubbing his sweaty palms down the sides of his joggers.

“You alright?” Niall asks, as Zayn pulls his tee shirt over his lap. The shape of his dick is still painfully obvious, and Harry’s such a sucker for giving head (haha) that his mouth actually waters a little.

“I’m fine,” Harry nods, even though he doesn’t sound it. He clears his throat. “I was just, erm.”

They’re both staring at him blankly, Zayn’s hand visibly moving to keep himself from going soft (understandably – it’d be rubbish to have kept a stiffy for an hour and a half only to lose it thanks to an uninvited guest). Harry’s own cock screams bloody murder in his joggers, refusing to be ignored or forgotten in this fun scenario.

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry decides quickly, spinning on his heel in an act of grace and (remaining) dignity.

He gets exactly four steps down the hallways before Niall calls out to him, a gentle but loud, “Harry, come back.” Harry doesn’t hesitate.

Standing in the doorway, Harry finds himself on the receiving end of both Niall’s and Zayn’s gazes, though thankfully neither look accusing or angry. “Yes?” he manages.

“D’you want to take a seat?” Zayn asks.

Niall gestures to the arm chair, separate from the sofa but close enough that Harry would get a good view. “You can watch, is what we’re saying.”

“Oh,” Harry says, as though this isn’t a fucking dream come true. Because he’s not totally lacking in self control, he adds, “Bro, are you sure? I don’t want to intrude, and it’s not… Like, you don’t have to.”

Looking to Niall, who’s still watching Harry, Zayn says, “Nah, like, it’s cool. We’ve talked about it.” Harry nearly scrubs his eyes to clear them; does Zayn look a little bit excited? Jesus. And did he just say they’ve talked about this, about fucking in front of Harry, letting him get off to them? _Jesus._

“Go on,” Niall grins.

Harry sits.

Zayn’s efforts to stay hard haven’t gone unrewarded, and after a brief pause for Niall to re-slick his hands, he’s back to enjoying what looks like the best hand job ever, and not just because it’s Niall who’s giving it. Harry knows before he even touches himself that he’s going to be insanely sensitive, and he’s right. He’s wound too tight to wank dry, jealousy filling him instantly as he watches Niall’s hands move up and down Zayn’s lube-shiny dick, so smooth, alternating paces and grips and making different but equally obscene noises. Not to mention that Zayn’s beautiful, tattooed body keeps shifting and twitching. He’s slouching against the sofa, always keeping in contact with the meaty parts of Niall’s thighs and arse, but sometimes he sits up to watch Niall work. Whenever it becomes too much, orgasm simmering beneath his skin to the point where he’s obviously having to fight it off, his head tips back, leaving his throat to the mercy of Niall’s mouth and tongue, fingers digging deep into Niall’s skin.

“Ah, stop, stop,” Zayn finally gasps, even as his muscles tense up, body straining for release. It must have taken a fuckload of willpower, because his chest is heaving, and his face doesn’t hide how difficult it is.

“That was close, huh?” Niall hums, smile tender and careful.

Zayn tries to say, “Yeah,” but it’s too breathy to be properly audible. Niall lets him rest while he takes Zayn’s wrist, pecks his finger tips, and strokes lube down his fingers. By the time he’s taking his briefs off, Zayn’s recovered, and Harry’s had to stop wanking in fear of coming too soon, himself. It’s bloody hard not to rub his poor cock raw as Zayn’s hand disappears between Niall’s legs, concentrated face tinted sweaty-red. Zayn has these beautiful, curvy lips, and Niall’s magnetised to them as Zayn opens him up on his fingers.

Harry’s never watched something so intense, and personal, and deep – it’s stressing him out, like, in the best way possible. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when Zayn’s inside, fucking Niall, or when Niall covers Zayn in jizz. Truth be told, though, Harry could watch Zayn finger Niall for _days_.

“Is this good?” Zayn asks. “Or more like this?”

Visibly curling in towards Zayn, Niall shudders and murmurs something that has Zayn’s eyes fluttering.

“Like this, yeah?” Whatever he does works a fucking charm if the sudden tensing in Niall’s body is an indicator. “You want it fast and hard, tonight?”

As always, Harry’s just glad that the concerts haven’t wrecked his hearing, and he can pick up the soft hiss of Zayn’s voice. It seems that even though they invited him to watch, they’re not putting on a show for Harry—not raising their voices, not angling differently, not faking noises and reactions—and he loves the organic rhythm of it, this beautiful mess they’ve created _together_. Harry loves them for it, because he didn’t expect anything different.

“Stop,” Niall whimpers.

“Shift up a bit, then,” Zayn says, popping the cap with his thumb and squeezing lube straight onto his cock with his free hand, slicking himself up. He gently tips Niall forward, Niall’s exposed neck inviting Zayn’s mouth to it, eyebrows pulling together as he angles his cock, pressing into Niall’s hole. “Oh,” he sighs into Niall’s flushed skin.

This is the moment Harry feels he’s been waiting for ever since he watched Zayn bend over the dividing gap. He’s holding his breath, only stops when he licks and spits on his palm, unable to blink and miss Niall’s arse sinking lower and lower onto Zayn’s dick. There’s a beauty to it, to knowing them outside of this, to go from seeing them giggle and play to seeing them fuck and hold onto each other like they could never let go.

Niall makes a sound when he’s fully seated, a low grunt from the back of his throat. He lifts himself a little bit, readjusting the angle, allowing Zayn to start moving in and out, hips rolling in minute motions to set them off. Harry doesn’t know how he’s feeling: part of him wants every inch of them under a magnifying glass, so he can see Niall’s goosebumps, and Zayn’s trickle of sweat; part of him wants to join in; the last part wouldn’t dare interrupt and risk capsizing this dynamic. Loosening his grip and tugging a bit faster to distract himself from the urge to get closer, Harry just prays his stamina will carry him through this. God. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. He’ll never get the images out of his head.

If it’s not enough that Zayn’s hands are running over Niall’s body like that one time Harry tried a pottery class (terrible idea) he’s also looking at Niall like he’ll never see anything better in his life. Without his rings on, his fingers look slimmer somehow, firm and supportive on Niall’s waist, helping to keep him stable against Zayn’s thrusts.

Tipping his head down, Niall seeks out Zayn’s mouth with a lovely, warm moan against his lips. Zayn responds with a small smirk, kissing back gently enough that Niall can break away to catch his breath when he needs to.

“Fuck,” Niall hisses, impossibly thick and slow.

“Yeah, can see it on your face, like,” Zayn whispers. “This good? D’you want to get on your back, maybe?”

Niall nods, though he doesn’t move quite yet, and Zayn takes the hint to keep fucking into him. Harry’s body feels like it could burst on every stroke, even the lightest touch too much for his sensitive cock. He’s spent years edging, edging himself or having someone else edge him, but it’s never reduced him to a puddle quite like this, where his heart feels as though it could break his ribs if it keeps hitting them so hard.

The sofa’s just wide enough that Niall can lie down on it, and Zayn plants one knee on a cushion and another safely on the edge. Niall guides him inside again, head falling back, and _finally_ Harry can see his sex face. His eyes squeeze shut as Zayn’s thrusts pick up speed right off the bat, not giving Niall the time to take it slow, and his fingers tighten on Zayn’s thighs, leaving angry, red stripes when he tears his hand away to settle on his own dick instead.

“Stop,” Niall gasps, and Zayn does, _immediately_.

Harry’s always taken edging as a patience game that picks up speed until he can’t take it anymore. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Zayn and Niall have their own way of doing it, fucking hard to the point where one of them gets too close, a challenge rather than a tease. Even though they seem to be stuck in their own little world, Harry doesn’t feel ignored; far from it. He feels special, like he’s been let in on a secret, so he doesn’t make a sound when Zayn asks if it’s okay to start moving again.

“I’m close,” he rasps, quickly clearing his throat to repeat himself.

“Mm,” Niall nods. “Me too.”

Zayn’s knocking sounds out of Niall’s mouth, breaking his jack-rabbit thrusts every so often to slow down, to kiss Niall, gasping against each other’s lips, and soon Niall’s knees are pinned to his chest by Zayn’s sharp shoulders. He has his face buried in Niall’s neck when Harry shoots, unable to hold back, feet arching right off the floor because he can’t believe how hard he’s coming. He’ll have to call his buddies over at NASA to let them know that he discovered ten new galaxies behind his eyelids. Blinded by his orgasm, Harry can still hear Zayn’s body rolling against Niall’s, fucking into him with the finish line in sight, Niall encouraging him with the noises tumbling out of his mouth.

For all the sex he’s had in his life, from the places he put his clumsy hands and eager dick at sixteen, to the bone-shaking, heart-racing, toe-curling experiences ( _sex_ periences, haha) he had in later years, Harry has never had sex with someone he loved. He’s had sex in relationships, and sex with friends, but from just two metres away, in Niall’s and Zayn’s living room, surrounded by the furniture they picked out together, drinking in the way they move like they could write essays about every inch of each other’s bodies—the firm curves of bone versus the soft muscles that give under their fingertips, the scruff of hair versus the silkiness of bare skin—he can tell the difference. Niall, whose blush sinks right down to a pink flush over his chest, makes sure Zayn is looking at him as an understanding passes between them, just before his fist pulls to a halt, come spurting over his stomach.

Not a moment later, Zayn follows suit, driving in deep with shaky breaths. Niall relaxes, letting Zayn take his time sliding in and out to make the most of it before he pulls out with a slow, easy smirk that’s all warmth.

They’re kissing with smiles on their faces, and Harry takes this as his moment to exit. Snogging is hardly the most obscene thing he’s witnessed this evening, but it still feels private and personal, something that should belong to nobody but the two of them, more so than the blow jobs or the shagging. Harry leaves them to it.

Upstairs, he has to splash his face with cold water, using his cupped hands to take a long, hearty drink. He never _did_ get his glass of water. Somehow, Harry feels his morning-self will forgive him, so long as he never forgets what happened tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Harry's POV. Was pretty nervous about writing him. Let me know how I did!
> 
> Title from Rihanna's _Shut Up and Drive_.
> 
> Tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!


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